


Write It On My Coffee Cup

by TheBenvolioArchives



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Awesome Erica, Boyd the Enabler, Coffee, Coffee Shops, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Lydia is Perfect, Multi, Protective Erica Reyes, Sassy Lydia, Winter, coffee shop AU, i think, sterek, stiles is adorable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-04-23 14:00:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4879543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBenvolioArchives/pseuds/TheBenvolioArchives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The guy stares at each of them in turn, like a deer in the headlights, and then fixes his eyes—honey brown—on Derek. “Uh…” he says. “Uh…is he on the menu? I mean—fuck—never mind. Latte?” </p><p>Otherwise known as "The Time Stiles Accidentally Hit on Grumpy Coffee-Man."</p><p>UPDATE: I know it's been forever since I updated this, but I found it again recently and I'm gonna start up from where I left off! Expect roughly a chapter a week!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Isaac and Erica stumble in from the snow, laughing and brushing white flakes from their coats. She’s got on heeled snowboots, and he’s wearing the same ones he’s had for two years. They’re functional and plain, and he likes them.  


“You’re ten minutes late,” Derek chastises, but he can’t bring himself to mean it. 

“Lighten up, boss,” Erica giggles, dragging her pink tongue over her red lips and grinning so that her teeth are bared. Sometimes she looks like a wolf when she does that. Today she looks playful. “We were being safe, right, Ise?” 

“Right.” Isaac’s cheeks are flushed from the cold, and his nose is still red from the winter sniffles he hasn’t been able to shake, which makes him look like baby Rudolph, and he’s smiling, too. Derek crosses his arms and bows his head so they can’t see his twinkling eyes.

“Isaac, on the register,” he orders, composing himself enough to look in charge again. “Don’t want you sneezing on the scones or anything. Erica, you’re doing coffee and distribution. Boyd’s already in the back.” 

“Gotcha,” she says, saluting, and disappears into the back for her apron. Isaac clips his nametag to his shirt and starts the long process of booting up the register. 

Their first customer of the day is in a rush. She snaps at Isaac to hurry up as he plugs in her order, and then at Erica when the espresso machine doesn’t go fast enough for her liking. Derek finally forces her out of the door with a free muffin and a promise of faster service next time, and when he turns around, Erica and Isaac are both laughing, doubled over and holding their stomachs. 

“What a _bitch_ ,” Erica snorts, straightening up and smoothing the wrinkles out of her apron.

“Customer,” Derek reminds her.

“Bitch,” Isaac agrees, rubbing an imaginary speck of dust from one of the register’s keys.

“Hey,” warns Derek. It’s hopeless.

The bell over the door jangles. The three of them snap to attention, though Erica’s lips are still twitching with laughter. “Can I get you anything?” Isaac calls, and then ducks his head when the guy looks his way. “Duh. Sorry. I mean, you ready to order, or…?” 

The guy stares at each of them in turn, like a deer in the headlights, and then fixes his eyes—honey brown—on Derek. “Uh…” he says. “Uh…is he on the menu? I mean— _fuck_ —never mind. Latte?” 

“Sure.” Isaac punches it in, and then Erica sets to work, muttering a quick apology over the speed of the espresso pump.

“Not in a rush,” the guy assures her. Derek heads into the back to check up on a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies, but he can hear the guy making small talk with his employees up front. “Nice weather, right? I thought the rain would never stop!”

“Sounds friendly.” Boyd’s wrist deep in a bowl of sweet-smelling dough, but he’s got his ears open, apparently. 

“Yeah,” Derek agrees. He bends down and flips on the oven light; everything looks good, but one of the treats is starting to brown faster than the others, so he snatches it out in several fluid motions and pops it in his mouth.

“Hey!” Boyd’s hand smacks down on his backside, nearly sending Derek’s head into the oven. He barely gets the door closed in time. “Mitts out of the cookies, asshole.”

“Sorry.” Derek isn’t, but no one has to know. 

When he gets behind the counter again, the friendly guy is still there, leaning up against the counter and flirting with Erica, who’s happily flirting back, resting on her elbows and squeezing her arms against the sides of her chest so that her sizable breasts look even larger. “It’s gonna be just another minute,” she purrs, eyeing the latte behind the counter, lid already on. “The machine’s pretty slow, y’know?” 

“I think I’m starting to.” Nice Guy smiles, displaying a row of straight white teeth, runs a long-fingered hand through his short brown-black hair, and points at the cup behind the pump. “So, that wouldn’t be mine there, would it?” 

“I—“

Isaac laughs quietly, though he quickly hides it behind a cough when Erica glares his way. “Sorry,” he mumbles, feigning discomfort. “Throat’s itching.”

Erica flips her blonde hair over her shoulder with a glare and turns back to Nice Guy, who smiles uncomfortably. “Can I have your name, at least?”

“Stiles.” Stiles accepts his latte with a smile and leaves. Erica sighs. Isaac rolls his eyes. Derek resists the urge to chase after him, because Derek Hale does not chase after people, especially not—incredibly hot—guys who order lattes and flirt with his employees.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek opens alone the next day, because it’s Erica’s day off, Cora’s ten minutes late and Isaac isn’t coming in until noon. Boyd’s running errands for the baked goods, and that leaves Derek in charge of getting everything ready. He’s not expecting the knock on the door, but he’s glad, because it’s Stiles.

“Hey,” he says, dusting himself down, as Derek opens the door. “I know you’re closed—I mean, I saw the sign, yeah? And I just—I really liked the coffee…and I wanted some more? Maybe from the cute barista with the eyes who glared the whole time, and…” He flushes. “Yeah. I came to see you, okay?”

Despite himself, Derek smiles. “Wanna come in? We’re just about to open, so there’s not that much going on.”

Stiles takes the invitation without hesitation, bouncing through the door and tracking in melting snow from the soles of his boots. At Derek’s indignant yelp, he frowns sheepishly at them and looks around for a mat, but it’s not out yet—too nice for Derek to muddy up before the customers start to pour in—so he settles himself in one of the booths and rests his chin on his hands. “It’s warm in here,” he sighs happily, tugging at his scarf.

“It kinda has to be,” Derek explains. “This time of year, it’s pretty much exactly what people want.”

“Yeah.” Stiles smiles widely, nose scrunching up endearingly. “I like it. Like, a lot. I like it a lot.”

Derek manages to sell him another latte by sheer force of will, though the part of his conscience that sounds disturbingly like Cora tries to make him give it away for free. Isaac calls right after Stiles leaves to say that he’ll be in early, but he freezes at the cordiality in Derek’s voice.

_“What happened?”_ he starts cautiously. _“Wait! Never mind. Tell me when I get there.”_

“Which should be when, exactly?”

Derek can practically hear Isaac thinking. _“Uh…ten?”_

He shows up at 10:15. “You’re late,” Derek says, and Isaac snorts.

“I’m early,” the younger man shoots back, unwinding his scarf and unbuttoning his coat. He shivers a bit once it’s off and crosses his arms over his torso. “Can we turn up the thermostat? It’s fucking cold, man.”

Derek glares and checks the temperature from his phone. “It’s nearly eighty degrees in here,” he points out. “How much higher does it need to be?”

“I don’t know.” Isaac pretends to think about it. “Ninety?”

“In your dreams, Lahey. Go get your apron on. You’re working tables.”

Isaac sighs heavily, but he does what he’s told without complaint. When he comes back, he’s got his scarf on again, and the sweatshirt Boyd keeps in the back. Derek’s heart softens. “Are you that cold?” he asks. Isaac nods miserably.

“It’s just these fucking sniffles,” he insists, frowning. “I’m dealing.”

“Are you infecting?” Derek hedges. Isaac tends toward being overly sensitive, which normally Derek can’t abide, but he’s also the only one of the Lone Wolf’s employees with a schedule more flexible than Cora was during her gymnastics days.

“No,” snaps Isaac, tugging on his apron strings. “Fuck off, Hale. Let me do my job.”

Derek, not one to keep people from working, fucks off happily. Isaac starts on the first table, where two little old ladies have left a collection of mugs and plates. The timer goes off in the back—bread or cookies, probably—so Derek leaves Isaac to his cleaning and goes to fetch whatever’s done. It ends up being the muffins, and they’re burnt.

"Fuck me."

"Rather not."

Derek jumps about a foot in the air. Peter smirks at him smugly, arms folded against his chest, looking like he did the day Derek found out he wasn’t actually dead. “You’re not a very good baker,” he sneers, flashing white teeth as he talks. Derek growls.

“Get out,” he snaps. Peter clicks his tongue disapprovingly.

“Is that any way to treat your favorite uncle?” he tuts. Derek rolls his eyes.

“I’ll try it out when I see him.”

The retort does nothing to Peter’s calm façade. “I was in the neighborhood,” the older Hale explains, dragging a pointer finger along the flour-covered countertop, leaving a long strip of wood bare. “And I thought of you. Your shop. I wanted to see how things were going; a check-in, if you will.”

“Everything’s fine.” Derek struggles to keep his voice even. “Now leave.”

Peter does, and then Isaac appears. He doesn’t say anything. Neither does Derek.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! Hope you enjoyed this installment. If there's anything you want to see, or anything I messed up on, don't hesitate to tell me. I'd love a few comments, too...is that me being greedy?


	3. Chapter 3

“I can’t believe Uncle Peter just showed up like that.” Cora’s got her arms crossed defensively over her chest, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. “I mean, after what he did.”

Derek sighs heavily. “I don’t know, Cor,” he says. “Maybe he wants to…fix things?” It’s a poor excuse and Derek knows it. By the look on her face, Cora knows it, too. She growls.

“He can’t fix burning our fucking house down,” she snaps, “and he probably shouldn’t try. _God knows,_ he’ll only make things worse.”

Derek just shakes his head. Cora’s right; even if Peter wants to make amends with his sister’s children, he’s done too much damage already, too much harm. And if he doesn’t…Derek doesn’t want to think about what it will mean if he doesn’t. “Let’s not think about tonight,” is what he finally says. “Is that all right with you, Cor?”

The teenage girl snorts. “Yeah, whatever. I’m gonna go stay with Casey for the night.”

“Don’t stay up too late!” Derek calls to her retreating back. The door slams before he’s done talking. With his little sister gone, Derek can’t hold back the flood of emotion anymore. His skin feels too hot, as though he’s back in the fire; his legs shake so hard he has to sit down, sliding none-too-gracefully down the wall until he’s sitting on the cold floor of his shop. “ _God,”_ he breathes. His voice catches in his throat. It’s hot, too hot, and everything is spinning, and his chest is tight and too hot, and God, oh God—

There’s a jangle. In the back of his mind, Derek remembers forgetting to lock the door, but he’s too far-gone to do anything but blink against the painful tears, swallow down the lump rising in his throat.

“Hey! Hey!” Suddenly, there’s a pair of warm hands on Derek’s shoulders, shaking him gently. Derek flinches back, cries out, scared, but the hands only follow him as he retreats. Someone drops into his vision, someone with pale skin and a wide, honest mouth and—it’s Stiles. “Hey, you need to look at me, okay?”

“Wh—how did y—?” Lead tongued, Derek tries to push the words past his clenched teeth. He can’t. Stiles doesn’t seem bothered; if he is, he knows how to hide it.

“The door was unlocked,” he says. His hands don’t leave Derek’s shoulders, but they do start rubbing, up and down, up and down. “You’re having a panic attack. You just have to breathe, okay? Inhale.”

Derek tries. He pulls in a shuddering mouthful of air, forces it out again with Stiles’ gentle “Exhale.” They repeat the process several more times, until Derek doesn’t need the reminders. Finally Derek’s vision clears enough for him to focus on Stiles. He tries to smile reassuringly, but all the other man does is rock back on his heels and frown, like he isn’t buying it.

“Uh.” Derek clears his throat uncomfortably. “Thanks for helping me, Stiles.”

Stiles laughs, a soft huff of sound that makes the bridge of his nose crinkle. “Anytime, man,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “Wanna tell me what that was about?”

Derek’s stomach clenches. “Is it all right if I say no?” he begs. Stiles nods, running a hand through his hair.

“Of course. Now come on. Up we go.” Stiles pulls Derek with him as he stands up. “Next time,” he continues, a twinkle in his dark eyes, “you might wanna close the door before you get robbed or something.”

“I-I’ll keep that in mind.” This time, the smile Derek offers Stiles is more genuine. Stiles beams back, and the floor seems to melt right out from under Derek’s feet. This close, Stiles smells like coffee, bubblegum and something slightly sweet—women’s perfume? His eyes seem to bore right into Derek’s. Derek tries to look anywhere else, his face heating up in a way entirely different from the panic attack. The breathlessness is different, too. It’s almost like—shit. Derek knows exactly what it’s almost like.

_God,_ he thinks. _How can I possibly have a crush on Stiles Stilinski?_ After all, they’ve only met twice. Hell, he only knows Stiles’ last name from Erica, who seems to know everything about everyone who’s ever lived in Beacon Hills.

“Hey! Earth to Derek!”

Blush deepening, Derek steps back from Stiles so quickly he hits the wall. “I-I think you should go,” he says, and he’d have to be blind to miss the look of hurt on Stiles’ face, brief though it is. “Sorry.”

“That’s cool man,” Stiles insists, taking several exaggerated steps back. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

This time, the jangling of the bell is much louder. Derek watches Stiles retreat into the darkness before locking the door and preparing to close up for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figure that after nearly two years, I owe you all a little explanation. Basically, I had a really rough year, followed by my transferring to boarding school (very long story), and so have had very little time to post anything at all.   
> I'm currently in the midst of revising for my A Levels, but I've made it my New Years resolution to post more on this website, and that includes FINISHING THIS FIC! So you can count on me not disappearing again! 
> 
> -R

**Author's Note:**

> I hope everyone liked chapter one!!!! :) Let me know if you want to see some art for this (I can't draw for shit, but my sister can!).


End file.
